Do Better
by ncfan
Summary: Watch her bleed and know she's doing it all for you.


**Characters**: Aizen, Hinamori**  
Summary**: Watch her bleed and know she's doing it all for you.**  
Pairings**: onesided HinaAizen**  
Warnings/Spoilers**: Spoilers for Soul Society arc**  
Timeline**: Pre-manga**  
Author's Note**: I don't think I can begin to emphasize how twisted Aizen and Hinamori's relationship is.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

Her hands are dripping, drenched in rivulets of blood that has been diluted, lightened and weakened by her own sweat. Her fingers, pale, delicate, deft, are cut open and raw, scarlet in the early morning light. She huffs and heaves as though this training exercise, so routine and usual, the exercise she has taken too far, is a matter of life and death.

Aizen smiles.

This, this is very good. Little Hinamori-kun is working hard as usual; no, she's working even harder than usual, and Aizen takes it as a good sign. He knows why she's doing all of this, of course; it doesn't take a genius to see why Hinamori insists on pushing herself so far, in every endeavor that she sets her mind to.

She's doing it for him.

Hinamori does everything that she does for the sake of her captain's approval. She will come in from training to the division headquarters, hands deep in blood and black kimono sticky with sweat, her hair slipping out of its bun in hanks, and her eyes will be bright and wide-open, fixated adoringly upon his face, lapping up whatever she can get out of him rapturously. Brown eyes that are focused coldly on battle exercises will widen and soften when they look upon her beloved Aizen-taicho.

This is very convenient. Aizen is deeply gratified to know that he will not have to cajole or coerce his little lieutenant into the roll of unwitting accomplice, that she is happy to come running into the niche that Aizen has left open for her. It's so hard to find willing help; the last he found was that blessed little boy who stood, like Hinamori, bloody, over the prone corpse of the former third seat and smiled brokenly. With all of the others, Aizen has been forced to coax and manipulate, to intimidate with the sheer force of his danger, mild and deceptive.

But Hinamori… Aizen didn't have to say a word with her, didn't even have to unleash the shikai of his Kyouka Suigetsu.

She's too soft and tender and warm, like a hunk of raw flesh, to become one of his conspirators. Aizen knows that for as long as he works on her, she will never become cold enough or glassy hard enough to actively and consciously work against Soul Society. Hinamori is useless in that regard; besides, she would be a danger with her loose tongue.

Instead, Hinamori Aizen can shape to be a tool.

Distraction.

Unfocused violence.

She will cover his work with her special ability to make chaos descend. Hinamori will be necessary in her own way.

Her blood is hitting the soft green grass. Dark crimson droplets that fall like rain but thicker fly through the air, their paths like that of a dying bird coming back to earth. A fountain of blood that sings, life flying away in every molecule. Hinamori should be careful about how she spills it.

Her body makes a thick, muffled thump as she flies back across the grassy courtyard and hits the ground, back down. Hinamori gasps, winded, as though she is about to be struck with a bout of nausea but either Aizen's suspicion is false or Hinamori manages to push down her bile, because she doesn't roll over and throw up. Her throat convulses, to no avail. Tobiume clatters to the ground, the sealed katana sparkling in the pre-morning light.

Aizen steps out of his hiding place as deep orange light becomes imperceptibly lighter. His feet hit the grass lightly, so he can come upon her unawares.

"Hinamori-kun." At the sound of Aizen's voice, Hinamori, regardless of her possible feelings of nausea or any possible injuries that she might have, scrambles to her feet, grabbing Tobiume as she does so and sheathing it. She brushes her hair into a semi-presentable position and straightens the front of her kimono, getting blood in her hairs and on her clothes in the process.

Hinamori bows deeply, keeping her eyes downcast. "Forgive me, Aizen-taicho, I did not hear you coming. Was there something you wanted?"

Aizen raises a hand and smiles gently to put her at ease, as Hinamori straightens her back and raises her admiring eyes to survey his face. "I take it you have been training this morning, Hinamori-kun."

"Yes, Aizen-taicho, I have. Just like you advised I should." Her pale, baby-round face is written all over with hopefulness. She does lap up any praise that she can like a little puppy, dying of thirst. It's just a little pathetic, really.

He nods seriously, letting the light glint off of his glasses so his lieutenant can't see his brown eyes. "I can see that, Hinamori-kun." Aizen's eyes narrow and he allows his tone to become just a little sterner. "You're doing very well, Hinamori-kun, but you must do better than this."

Hinamori's face falls. Her brown eyes, already heavy with fatigue, droop further, melancholic and let down.

Aizen's face softens, as he puts a hand on her small, slight shoulder. "Alright. Hinamori-kun, why don't you go clean up and then join me and the rest of the division for breakfast. You can continue training after that. Some of the junior officers were interested in learning kido, and battle exercises always go better on a full stomach."

She nods hastily, not raising her dejected eyes. "Yes, Aizen-taicho," and she runs off, shame rolling off of her in waves, plainly mortified.

Aizen steps back under the shelter of the shading over the pathways. His smile widens slightly.

He knows Hinamori has heard nothing after the stern words, _"Do better"._


End file.
